


Galvanize

by The Jingo (The_King_in_White)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Civil War, F/F, F/M, M/M, Politics, Sibling Incest, Spiritual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_King_in_White/pseuds/The%20Jingo
Summary: In a twist of fate, it is Zuko - not Ozai - who inherits Azula's brittle heart. "Mom's gone, Zuzu. So I suppose I'll have to be the one keeping your sorry butt safe from now on."





	1. Chapter 1

Thunder crashed, the white flare of lightning illuminating the corners of his room, and Zuko jolted awake. Blinking blearily, the six year old Fire Nation Prince scowled up at the ceiling in distaste at the electrical cacophony and rolled over in search of a comfortable position to return to slumber in.

Only to jerk back with a shout at the round gold eyes invading his vision. Sheets tangled around the boy's form, and with an ungraceful yelp Zuko tumbled to the floor. Knocking his head against the wooden planks, the Prince rubbed his aching skull and peered balefully up at the intruder.

" _Azula_." Zuko growled, crawling back up into his bed and pulling the crimson sheets up after him. "What are you doing in my _room_?!" The younger royal might have been his sister, but as far as Zuko was concerned he'd be better off without a sibling. No malicious pranks, no mean spirited teasing, and no being woken up in the middle of the night for no reason.

Tilting her head, Azula studied her brother with the golden eyes that were common in their country. Baby fat still clung to the round curves of the four year old princess' face, even if the young prodigy had already begun throwing sparks in their shared firebending instruction, and there was still a certain innocence to the way Azula hugged a worn stuffed koala sheep doll to her chest.

"It's thundering." Azula pointed out matter of factly, peeling back the sheets of Zuko's bed while ignoring her older brother's indignant squawk. "Father said I'm not allowed to sleep with him or mother anymore." Pinning the prince with a defiant look, the girl wiggled into the downy softness of Zuko's mattress and closed her eyes with a huff.

Zuko glared at Azula, weighing the risk of simply kicking her out of his bed. Azula had already given up crying to their sire – Father was never one to coddle either of his children or indulge their fears. But if she said anything to Mother, he'd have to deal with their mother's sad sighs and disappointed looks at their fighting.

There was a distressed furrow to Azula's brow despite his younger sister's determined efforts to act tough and unshaken. The distant boom of thunder that came every now and then put a quiver in his sister's pouting lips, and Zuko found himself reluctantly softening.

No matter how much his mother admonished him to look after his sister, the young prince often found himself forgetting. Zuko couldn't help but resent Azula most of the time. She was already a better firebender than he was – if he even was a firebender at all, seeing as how he had yet to throw any actual sparks. Father loved his daughter more than he loved his son, and Azula herself was always so mean!

' _Your sister is still young Zuko. Give Azula some time to grow up.'_

"Yeah, okay." Zuko muttered, unsure if he was replying to Azula or to the memory of his mother. Yanking the red silk up over both of them, he tentatively wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her close. Thunder shrieked again, much closer than a last burst, but the silent tension had gone out of Azula's face, and the frown that had marred her brow was gone.

The faint smell of jasmine tickled his nose, and Zuko began to relax back into sleep. Azula had never bothered to pad her way to his room before when hiding from thunder or the monsters beneath the bed, far preferring the company of their mother – at least until Father had apparently banned it, for some reason.

Zuko couldn't say why Father would do such a thing. With Azula so quiet, he didn't mind putting up with her. And when she snuggled closer to his chest, it was even... nice, having her around. If she could act this way all the time, Zuko would be glad to have a sister.

The dark passed. The storm rolled away before the morning sun, and Zuko found Azula's frequent insults slightly less cutting than they were the day before. Thus when she padded her way to his room again that night, complaining about monsters beneath the bed, the young prince shared his sheets with no complaint.

Nor did he complain when Azula found her way to his room the night after that, or the night after that. If Azula's insults became friendly teases in the weeks and months and years afterward, Ursa was glad to see it. And if Zuko's fumbling bending forms improved beneath his younger sister's abrasive tutelage, Oazi was pleased at having a slightly less shamefully weak heir.

* * *

Grief came on scarlet wings, and Azula watched silently as her eleven year old brother turned his face to the sky. Rain sprinkled down, running in streams over the handsome planes of Zuko's face, and the princess knew that it provided a convenient disguise for the salty tears that were surely tracking down her brother's face.

 _Lu Ten._ Hung in the air, thick and silent between them, and for once Azula found herself without words to offer. Teasing Zuzu with her typical sharp words would do more to hinder rather than help her elder sibling with his grief. She knew that someone like their mother – or even Mai, Agni forbid – might have had some inspirational and kind words to offer Zuko.

Azula had more than become aware of her deficiencies – _strengths_ , Father's voice insisted in the back of her mind – in the years since she'd first hid with her brother from a lightning storm. Something dark and primal lurked beneath her skin, tasting ecstasy when she struck out with cruelty and tasted that heady tang of power over others.

Zuzu didn't like it when she burnt the turtle ducks, or cut into the oafish servants when they were clumsy, or when she had tried to end her _friendship_ with Mai over the constant cow eyes the older girl gave her brother. So Azula swallowed the sharp angles of her cruelty in front of him, and tried to learn to smile a little more softly. She didn't care for it.

But it was the fair price of sneaking into her brother's bed long after their disproving mother insisted they end the practice – something about propriety – to smell the cinnamon of his skin and feel the warm pounding blood in Zuko's veins. Azula enjoyed Zuzu's rage every time he heard someone call his little sister a monster more than she enjoyed the small rush that came from bullying the absolutely pitiable.

Setting a hand on Zuko's shoulder, Azula squeezed in sympathy. Dragging up the soft words from her throat and pushing them past her suddenly thick tongue took some effort, but the princess was able to squeeze out a quiet "He was a good man."

Even in Azula's esteem, Lu Ten had been tolerable. Unlike Ozai, her cousin didn't weigh her with cold eyes like a tool. Unlike Ursa, there was no weary judgement in his face the rare times Iroh's son had come home from the war. Unlike Azulon, neither Iroh nor his son viewed Ozai's children as disposable bags of flesh.

Lu Ten was simply sickeningly kind, apt to toss either sibling in the air with laughter and hold them close for obviously exaggerated tales of battle. There was no preference in Lu Ten's favour. No manipulation or judgement. Simply affection. The thought brought a faint pang beneath Azula's breastbone, and the princess furrowed her brow even as Zuko settled a hand over her's.

Curious warmth trickled out of her eyes, stinging faintly beneath the summer deluge. Agni praise the rain for concealing Zuko's weak emotions and loss of control from the eyes of gossiping servants. And for concealing her own.

* * *

' _Everything I've done, I've done to protect you. Remember this, Zuko. No matter how things seem to change, never forget who you are.'_

Leaning over the windowsill, Zuko ignored the slight digging of wood into the flesh of his forearms as he took in the black drapes of mourning that cluttered about the walls of the royal palace and over the fire nation capital that stretched into the horizon.

The thick facade of grief at the loss of Fire Lord Azulon, the Prince Lu Ten, and Princess Ursa bred a heavy stillness over the court and common people. Servants and noble alike scurried about buried in a hush, few tongues daring to defile the bereaved silence.

The loss of Lu Ten still dug blades into the wounded corners of his spirit, and Zuko's missing mother was a howling storm of grief in the confines of his chest. Pain and absence throbbed painfully with every beat of his heart, eased only by the faint jasmine scent and warmth of Azula as she lingered by his side.

"She's not dead, you know." His sister offered, and Zuko knew how much it cost Azula to even speak positively of their mother. He knew his mother loved Azula, just like his mother loved him. But Azula was convinced that Mother only ever viewed her as a monster, and his sister rejected their mother with the same determination that made her a near-master bender at such a young age.

Just as Zuko knew Ozai had no true affection for either of his children, or for his vanished wife. When Azula had hesitantly spilled the truth of the secret lessons she still received from their father, Zuko had been disbelieving and horrified. Until his mother confirmed that Azula _wasn't_ _lying_. A man who claimed that love and kindness were pathetic illusions didn't have the capacity to love anyone.

"I know." Zuko replied after a beat, dragging a hand through his ruffled hair with faint anxiety. Mother was _somewhere_ , fleeing into obscurity for the sake of her very life. Zuko had been full of confusion and terror when his father sent a servant in the early hours of the morning with news of Ursa's suicide over her _dear father's passing_. But Azula had known the truth, just like she seemed to know everything of import.

Mother had murdered the Fire Lord to protect her son's life, and Father had taken the throne from beneath his missing elder brother and dead nephew. The dead woman wrapped in white linen laying in his mother's chambers was some murdered peasant, ensuring that all bridges behind Ursa were burnt. Such were royal secrets.

An elbow dug playfully into his side, and Zuko turned to give his sister a half-hearted glare. Pain and rage simmered beneath his veins, urging him to _strike_ out. But this was Azula, who had painstakingly urged him through bending forms time and again until he mastered them. Azula, who still snuck into his rooms at night every now and then to cuddle up warm and smelling sweetly. Azula, who whispered soft and sharp in his ear in warning before he could commit some blunder of manners.

Azula wasn't his mother, and she never would be. But she was his sister, and that just might be enough.

"Mom's gone, Zuzu. So I suppose I'll have to be the one keeping your sorry butt safe from now on."

* * *

Fire and smoke exploded, blowing Zuko off his feet and on his ass in the dirt.

Azula threw back her head and laughed. "Do it just like that Zuzu, every single time." Smirking at her exasperated uncle, the princess spun on her heel and left Iroh to his attempts to teach Zuko how to bend lightning.

Lightning generation was a technique she herself had mastered some months past – another mark of the eleven year old princess' prodigious martial skill, and of her thirteen year old brother's compared deficiencies.

At least Ozai was more likely to ignore Zuko, compared to younger years when their father was more apt to pick apart every single mistake her brother made.

Narrowing her gaze at the crimson and gold royal palace in the distance as she left the bending arena, Azula shook her head before allowing her feet to carry her into the teeming streets of the capital.

The air hung thick and humid over the city, the faint smell of sea salt mingling with the sour smell of peasantry. Warm bodies crowded around Azula, the commoners ignorant as to the presence of their princess pushing through the mid-afternoon crowds.

Unlike Zuzu, Azula was a virtual unknown to the common folk. She had neither the expectation to be seen by the peasants – as Crown Prince Zuko did – or the desire to connect with the people – as her brother did. Remove the crimson crown hairpiece and her topknot, and Azula could pass easily for any one of the many bored children of the nobility or wealthy merchant classes.

Which was just as Azula wanted it. No royal wanted their name tied to such dirty business.

Turning down a side alley, Azula withheld the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell of filth and decay. Poverty existed at the fringes of even their 'glorious' nation, and the rag-clad beggars that watched her passage with hollow eyes were exemplary of it.

Azula stepped back out onto another bustling street, catching the flow of human traffic and allowing herself to be swept along and around the corner so she could duck into a shady stall and wait. Long heartbeats passed as reptilian orbs scanned the crowd.

 _There_.

Two bearded men rustled on by without a side glance, topknots mingling silver and ink strands. Ozai's servants missed the lurking figure of their princess in the dark entirely, and Azula repressed a scoff. If it wasn't so convenient, she would almost be insulted by the easily fooled tails her father set after her in his indiscriminate paranoia.

Nodding at the quiet woman minding the stall, Azula ignored the fine-spun rolls of silk to toss Iroh's little spy a gold coin. The princess smirked at the woman's wide-eyed fumble, sweeping back out into the crowd to backtrack to the alley she'd come through.

Leaning against the brick corner where the alley met the street, Azula adopted a purely bored expression. Looking for all the world like a noble brat with nothing to do, the Fire Nation princess dropped a beaten silver piece into the lap of the filthy beggar beside her.

"My thanks, Mistress Min." The rag-shroud man murmured, young voice at old with his beaten and weathered facade. "Your generosity will put some warm food and wine in my belly for the rest of the week."

Any curious passerby would see a wealthy girl giving out a pittance to a poor man, their slight familiarity speaking to some childhood attachment. Perhaps the beggar had been a servant for whatever merchant or lord her father was, dismissed to the gutter for whatever paltry shame the man accidentally gave her stingy father.

Azula heard it differently. An acknowledgement of her leadership among the little web of criminals and spies she'd been building in the filthy underworld, and confirmation that all appropriate actors would be in place for the remainder of the week.

"I have my doubts." Azula replied after a beat. "Prices are always fluctuating. I wouldn't be surprised if it only lasted for the next three days."

_Act on the third day._

Bowing his head, the beggar fixed a bleary brown gaze at the worn bricks of the alley wall opposite. "As you say, Mistress Min."

Azula hummed, summoning up a tone of false concern as she peered down at the slouched informant. "Be careful Huang. I hear the streets can be dangerous at night. Maybe you should be looking into obtaining some knives to protect yourself. Even a child wouldn't be safe from the sort of ruffians that I hear roam about in the dark."

_Obtain both the girl and the child._

"That is true, my Lady."

Sighing, Azula craned her neck to stare up at the clear blue skies. Even at this very moment, Zuzu was likely struggling to bend lightning with the exasperating – if adorable – stubborn determination her brother was full of. The two siblings truly were as different as night and day. One spending the afternoon learning from his beloved uncle.

The other spent her time arranging a hostage and ransom situation for gold.

"I'll be seeing you, Huang. Next time I'll see if I can sneak half a loaf of bread out for you, or something."

_Half of the proceeds to my accounts._

"Safe travel, Mistress Min."

Azula turned away, plunging back into the stream of the peasantry. It was almost sad in a way, how different she and Zuko were. Even now, her brother was still a complete innocent. Oh Zuko had learnt much under her careful tutelage. Suspicion of courtiers. The knowledge that hidden implications and entendres were part of intrigue, regardless of how much he detested it. Even the reality that blood and murder were hardly foreign to the decadent court of the Fire Nation.

Firebending first, last, and most of all.

But Zuzu had never learnt the necessity of bloodying one's hands. Iroh was too soft after the death of Lu Ten, even if their uncle was more than familiar with the necessary cruelty to survive and thrive in the court. Ozai would never have bothered to instruct his weaker offspring, and Ursa would have been horrified at the suggestion that Zuko become familiar with all the dark sides of their nation.

Which was fine. Let Zuzu remain innocent and clean for a while longer. Sooner or later the Crown Prince would have to confront reality and adapt to it. But for the moment, Azula was happy enough to do her part to keep her only sibling safe (Ozai's infants that the concubines bore were no kin of her's).

Sleepless nights organizing her own spiderwebs in the underworld, contrary and hidden to both Ozai and Iroh? No problem. Arranging ' _accidents'_ for particularly ambitious distant cousins that might one day stake a challenge for the Dragon Throne? Simple enough. Building a nest egg of hidden funds by extorting nobles – even to the point of arranging a probably traumatic hostage situation for her _dear_ friend Mai?

Whatever it took to keep Zuzu safe and by her side.

_Forever._


	2. Chapter 2

"Again, Prince Zuko."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, the Fire Nation's sixteen year old prince hefted his dao and plunged back into the whirl of blades.

Sunlight splintered along the polished steel as Zuko darted in, whirling the blade in his right hand to catch his master's single blade and throw it aside in a ringing note. The dao in Zuko's left pulled inwards, point aimed for the gut in a move that would have fatally wounded a lesser swordsman.

Piandao was no lesser swordsman. With a smooth turn of the heel, the blade master left Zuko's stab to go wide. Wiry muscles bunched beneath Piandao's leathery skin, and with a heave he shoved Zuko's other blade to the side, leaving the young man to stumble at the sudden loss of opposing force.

The single blade wove up and around, air hissing as it swung towards Zuko with unrelenting force. Zuko's eyes widened in recognition, and his face was already screwed up into an expectant grimace when the hilt of Piandao's jian slammed into the back of his skull.

Wincing at the pain, Zuko straightened and turned to give his master an absolutely foul glare. "Do you have to do that _every_ _single_ _time_?" An absent hand rubbed over the newest of lumps he'd received since starting the day's lesson. "At this rate I'm not going to have enough marbles to rub together to remember to eat, much less become the Fire Lord!"

Piandao's face was stern and unrelenting as the sun, and if not for the unsurpassable amused quirk to one corner of his mouth, Zuko might have actually been insulted. "I find it hard to believe you had any marbles to rub together in the first place, Prince Zuko."

Rolling his eyes at his Uncle's old friend, Zuko lifted his blades in wordless challenge and continued the lesson. Piandao had become somewhat of a distant uncle in the three years since Iroh had first arranged instruction for the Crown Prince at the hands of the Fire Nation's most famous swordsman. There was a nostalgic familiarity to every painful bump and bruise, and struggling against Piandao enabled him to continue to improve his ability inch by inch.

Even if technically Zuko was skilled enough with his dao to tentatively be considered a 'master' swordsman amongst commoners and the lower ranks of the nobility. Contrary to Iroh's constant positive reinforcement, Piandao had no problem knocking Zuko about if the blade master felt his pupil had a swelled head – Prince or not.

There was a certain primal beat to the dance of blades, even if the blades were merely dull practice swords. It was no different than the heart pounding exhilaration of pitting flame against flame. _Here are my talons._ Seemed to bubble up from the forgotten depths of his bones, and Zuko knew the truth in the way every man and woman born in the Fire Nation knew it.

There were many unbelievable legends that abounded in the world. Spirit tales and myths that raised the brows in amused disbelief. Some wonderous, some horrific - and some a little bit of both. The ignorant thought it an old wives' tale when the Fire Nation spoke of mysterious men and women with no recorded lineage and no known family.

_For a night, or a lifetime._

But Zuko knew the truth like he knew the back of his hand. The truth every child of the Fire Nation knew. The insatiable passion that burnt beneath the skin, eased by crimson and steel, was the blood of dragons running through their veins. Immortalized in written word and spoken tongue, and the ancient unbent rules of the Agni Kai.

_Flame or blade. For even dragons without fire have talons._

A hungry grin stretched across Zuko's lips, fatigue rushing away with every beat of his heart pounding in his ears. Piandao's face was reserved, but the gleam that shone in the old master's eyes was as familiar and wild as the light in his own.

The first man Zuko had killed had been a Northern Water Tribe raider. The Crown Prince had been fourteen then, travelling on a tour of the Fire Nation to get a feeling for the land and the people he would one day rule. Just a boy with a cracking voice, two blades of finer craft than his skill warranted, and a chip of pride on his shoulder.

Too young for war, but old enough to open a man's chest. The blood had speckled his face and armor then, warm and coppery and so full of life Zuko had been able to taste it on the tongue. And when the raiding party had been destroyed and there was naught left but the crimson staining his flesh, Zuko had known why the Fire Nation was winning the War.

It boiled down to the heat rushing through them. Dragon's blood in their arteries, every vessel fit to near bursting with that inhuman ancestry. The wildness made them both less than human compared to every other nation – but also _more_.

When pain and pressure was on, battle singing and death stalking the field, the Fire Nation won the day. They moved faster. They hit harder. They lasted longer. War made demons of even the best of men, and _they were the scarier monsters_.

None were more terrifying than the monsters of Sozin's line. For that was what they were Azula's whispered in the night – his younger sister's voice hot and urgent beneath the dark. Monsters with hearts, perhaps, but monsters all the same. Even amongst firebenders and families with more of the dragonsblood than most, Agni's children were simply _more_.

Only those in the royal line had ever attained the heady heights of bending blue flames. Few outside the line of the Fire Lords, stretching back past the Sun Warriors to the forgotten days, ever commanded the Cold Fire. Agni's blood and Agni's seed ran true.

_Agni._

_Father of Fire._

_Father of Dragons._

Zuko couldn't say if that gave the Fire Nation the right to force the rest of the world to its knees in servitude. But if it didn't even the Avatar – if it ever returned - would have a hell of a time enforcing otherwise.

* * *

Sliding her tanto home, Azula spared a glance for the polished glass of her mirror. Not a strand was out of place of her topknot, the crimson flame headpiece denoting her royal status. The black and red armour the clung to her form was rather fetching, if the princess was honest with herself.

In this case, beauty was combined with utility as well. Though Zuko had insisted even since childhood that she looked prettier with her hair free and down. Tilting her head, Azula eyed the light refracting off the headpiece and mused that once she was the Fire Lady she would have the custom done away with. Royalty was the divine blood in her veins and the power of her flames. Not an old piece of beaten metal.

Satisfied with her appearance for the moment, Azula left her quarters and crossed the palace. Servants eyed the princess with trepidation when they thought she wasn't looking, and Azula ruthlessly smothered the urge to incinerate them all. Once they wouldn't have even dared to breathe the same air as her without her command.

But dear Zuzu didn't care for that. Even if her brother wouldn't accuse her of being some beastly creature unworthy of loving or being kind to, Zuko would stare at her with that annoying hangdog look that could have made even the Face-Stealer feel regretful. Besides, burning peasants was rarely all that fun anyway.

Burning the nobility was far more enjoyable, and with some appropriate dirt Zuzu rarely even complained about it.

Quietly slipping into the Throne Room, Azula breathed a sigh in relief at the absence of the Fire Lord. Even if she wasn't late for the scheduled time for the war meeting, Ozai had no issue with arriving early on impulse and then punishing anyone that arrived afterwards for their ' _lateness_ '.

Azula took her place nearest and to the right of the Throne, ignoring the vaguely disgruntled looks on the faces of the old Generals and Admirals. Women may have the right to enlist in their country's armed forces, and even the rare reigning sovereign had been a Fire Lady, but that equality rarely reached into the halls of power. Daughters were still bargained off to the highest bidder, pressured by custom to keep quiet, stay chaste, and obey the men in their life. Escaping into the military removed all power of a father or brother to arrange marriage for a woman, but at the cost of making her unmarriageable even after retirement. Even the reigning Fire Ladies had to marry near male relatives to strengthen their claims to the Dragon Throne.

If Azula was an idealist she might have been outraged. As it was, she only minded insofar as it was an irritant when musty old men refused to give her counsel its due credence in governing or martial matters. But all decisions were made by Ozai in the end, and her father gave Azula's mind the weight it deserved.

So Azula swallowed down the disrespect and contempt weighing in those decrepit gazes, filing them away in the back of her mind. One day, it would be her and her brother sitting on the dais, wrapped in coiling flames. One day, the War would be won and all the experience and laurels the old fools had would be irrelevant. One day there would be a reckoning, and Azula would relish it.

Heat flared as Ozai stepped into the room, light shining dim and red with coiling flames as the Fire Lord ascended his throne. Azula's father settled his broad frame into the carven golden chair, and with a final crackle the flames rose high and obscured all sight of the Fire Nation's sovereign.

"Speak." Ozai's voice rang out, low and austere.

General Mung was the first to speak, wrinkles on his face distorting as the middle-aged officer recounted his findings. "The new factory constructed at Jang Hui is already exceeding quotas. Combined with the production lines at Yagong and what we will be gaining at Zhuge once overhauls are complete, I have every confidence that our supply shortage with be eased enough for the campaign next month."

The conquest of Omashu. Azula could nearly taste the glory of battle already. She had yet to approach Zuko with the proposal to prove their mettle in the field, though she would have to _soon_ if he was to return before the day of invasion. There was every confidence Zuzu would take up the gauntlet.

All she had to do would be mention that the people expected their Prince to prove himself in the War. As every Fire Nation royal since Sozin had – save their Father. Point out that his presence and skill could make a difference – as while Zuko was hardly on _her_ level, he was quite a step above even well trained firebenders. Make sure that rumours of her own deployment made it to her brother's ears, and her sibling would be roaring to go forth.

Ozai would undoubtedly give his permission. The man had no love for any of his children, and what was the use of a tool that was not going to be used? Even if the siblings died Ozai had children by concubines to follow him as Fire Lord.

Azula would place her bets on Fan if she indulged her morbid streak. Her half-brother was ruthless, hungry, and full of a certain low cunning. If Ozai took an interest in the boy, Noriko's spawn might even grow to be a threat beneath the Fire Lord's teaching.

"They say there have been sightings of the Avatar in the Earth Kingdom." War Minister Qin pointed out after a considering silence. "Rumor claims he is an airbending master."

"Rumor also claims that the Avatar was born in the Water Tribes, or that he's a wrinkled old man behind the walls in Ba Sing Se." General Shiyu growled indignantly, pinning his fellow officers with exasperated eyes. "Rumor claims that you can meet the Face Stealer in the mirror on a moonless midnight. Rumor claims the moon is made of cheese. We don't need rumours Qin, we need facts and we need men!"

Embarrassed indignation flushed Qin's leathered cheeks, the grey haired advisor retorting defensively. "I never made any recommendations about what should be done about rumours Shiyu. I'm only passing along what has been said."

"You ought to know better than to pass on old wives' tales!"

Bickering filled the air, and Azula suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

 _Men_.

* * *

Like much in their country, Fire Nation ships were made of fire and steel. It was a subtle feeling. Something like mingled _home_ and _violence_ beneath his feet. It almost made Zuko long for a small wooden pleasure craft. The sea was in their blood, just as much as dragons were, and the salt spray tasted like a man's own hearth.

Tainting that homecoming with war felt almost sacrilegious.

Striding down the gangplank, Zuko scanned his golden gaze over the Island of Meizhou. A royal had never bothered to visit the small island along the northern reaches of the Fire Nation in five generations. Yet both the Crown Prince and The Dragon of West made time for the little Lord that ruled it and the few people that lived there.

Digging the heels of his boots into the dirt, Zuko nodded. Both in approval at the good fertile soil and in acknowledgement of the armoured marine standing guard at the end of the plank. "Private Nashi."

"Your highness."

Jerking a chin over his shoulder, Zuko sighed. "Come on, Uncle. Let's go make nice with the common folk." Without bothering to wait for the retired general to give a positive response, the Prince strode off into the beaten dirt streets of the village they'd docked their steamer at. The presence of a navy cruiser moored offshore or of crewmen docking was not _that_ rare of a sight in Meizhou.

Which meant none of the peasantry were aware of the presence of their Prince until he was looming over them, flaming hairpiece and all. Zuko was not given to geniality like Iroh was, and he much preferred listening while his uncle did a level best to encourage the commoners to speak their concerns.

While not much of an idle conversationalist – the viper pit of the capital hardly engendered true friendships – Zuko didn't truly _object_ to speaking to his subjects. They were often unaware of political realities, overarching economic concerns, or the true cost of running the war. But they were still _his people_ , Fire Nation and dragonblood all, and Zuko was sincere in his desire to know their troubles and do his best to ease them.

Sometimes it was as simple as a bag of gold in the hands of a trusty magistrate to be put to use in repairing one public work or another. Time and then it was a a few coins and a hot meal for a man down on his luck. Zuko had even arranged scholarships in his name for little orphan girls to attend academies open to those outside the nobility, or apprenticeships in skilled trades.

Iroh had been proud at him fulfilling his duties to the people. When Zuko initially began to take the time to personally solve the issues of his subjects, the old firebender had sung praises so long it would make a whore blush, much less a reserved young prince. Azula had congratulated him on seizing the initiative to build a basis of popularity amongst the people. Pleased with the _'foresight'_ he was displaying, his sister refrained from insulting his intelligence for an entire day.

Ozai had probably dismissed it as the whimsy of a weak and compassionate child.

Of all of them, it was strangely Zuko's distant father that was closest to the mark. The first time Zuko had seen a filthy beggar and given him a coin, he hadn't felt it was his duty to take care of his subjects. He hadn't calculated the political benefit of his position in helping the man. He'd simply looked and known.

_In one life, this could have been me._

It was said that the most valiant souls amongst the people of the Fire Nation were spared the cycle of reincarnation after death and gathered to Agni's side to live in eternal splendor. If that were true, then in a previous life perhaps Zuko had been a beggar.

Zuko's spirit could have been a beggar, or a soldier killed too young. He could have been a murderer. Mayhaps he had been a geisha once, selling her body to put food in her stomach. Many, many lives he could have lived – doomed or saved by someone else's random compassion. Or maybe his heart was new made in Agni's forge, untested and unmarked by lives lived and lost.

A man could never know.

Forcing a patient smile on his face, Zuko reached out to give an eager young peasant boy an arm clasp. The chattering excitement of an innocent child filled the air as the boy fearlessly tugged his prince along to meet his huddled group of awestruck friends.

Children were so easily pleased, and by the expressions of the adults that had come to crowd along the streets at the whisper of the royal visitors, even grown peasants were given to an easy happiness. Zuko wondered if it could be attributed to an ignorant innocence of the world. Or perhaps the fault was in the nobility for hungering for too much, rather than in the peasantry for their humility.

It made him feel like an ancient greybeard to witness such easy happiness. Here – just like many of the smaller villages dotting the Home Islands – were found people satisfied and content with their lot in life. Compared to the jaded cynics of the capital, the commoners were ever-young. It was a youth Zuko ached to touch, and never would.

Like his forefathers before him, Zuko had touched the ravenous sun and grown old.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sister,_

_Regardless of how often you insist you have better things to do, I'm going to insist back just as hard that coming along on this tour would have been a great thing for you to experience. Even Uncle's endless nattering on about tea and Pai Sho is more enjoyable than the viper pit. The only ulterior motive he has to asking me to play so often is the chance to spout obscure sentimental proverbs while making me feel like a wet-behind-the-ears boy._

_Although Uncle doesn't gloat constantly over his victories like you do. Sometimes I wish he would, simply for the satisfaction of knowing that_ someone _in the world is able to wipe that smirk off your face. And don't even attempt to deny it. You know its look just as well as I do. That little "haha-Zuzu-I-have-bested-you-for-all-time-feel-the-shame-and-humiliation" curl you get to your lips. Or I'm sure that's how you think it looks. To me, it's simply the same face you made when you were three years old and succeeded in raiding the cookie jar._

_I digress._

_Even you must be able to agree with me that the Caldera City has grown somewhat stale after fourteen years living in it? Seeing the same buildings, watching the same horizons, smelling the same scents... You haven't even left the capital since the last time our entire family visited Ember Island all those years ago. You've surely forgotten how the quiet shifting of a ship beneath your feet feels by now. Landlubber._

_In any case, I'm writing to inform you that I will return to argue my case in person. There have been... disturbing rumours I suppose, even so out of the way as Meizhou. I hesitate to put anything particularly sensitive to paper due to the possibility of interception, and I'm sure that if I've heard of it – so have you. Even Uncle has been worried, though he tries to hide that the news is concerning to him. He does what he feels is best, though I admit that I find all the obfuscations tiresome. Surely, if there is truth on the wind, wouldn't the country be better off to have it confirmed and done with?_

_I can feel the lecture you're going to deliver already. I don't suppose that we can simply agree that you're right and move on without the instructive speeches? And now you have that frowny face, I expect. There is surely a second lecture on the need for respect and proper gratitude on the way as well isn't there? Perhaps a few beat downs in the bending arena to try and instill the lesson more deeply? Why you feel that resorting to fists is a good idea when you've told me_ how _many times that I'm too stubborn and hard headed is beyond me. I cry abuse. Abuse and malicious intent!_

_Well, as Uncle might say – "If you find yourself in a hole, the best thing to do is stop digging!" or perhaps "Leaf me alone, I'm bushed!". Some nugget of wisdom he's tried to give me over the millions of cups of tea I've been forced to drink is surely appropriate now. In either case, I shall be seeing you soon._

_Behave,_

_Zuko_

Parchment crinkled beneath well-manicured fingers as Azula crumpled her brother's letter in a ball. Lighting the paper with an electric blue spark, the Fire Nation princess tossed it into the hearth before schooling her face away from the fond expression and into one suitably haughty for her reputation as she turned to stare out the window.

It wouldn't do for the servants to notice how unbearably soft and mushy she became after letters from her brother. It was one thing for palace tongues to wag on about Azula's power and ruthlessness, or for rumours to abound in the corridors of power that named her as a brother-fucker. They were true enough, or would be. Soon.

On the whole however, it was better not to be known for sentimentality and weakness. Not that Azula was unable to put challengers in their place, or even minded making them regret ever being born. But it made Zuko positively unbearably preachy for a few days when she did. The only recourse her brother considered a proper response to insult was an Agni Kai. Which was simply absurd.

As if Azula would ever lower herself to take part in a proper and sacred duel with whatever jumped up peasant it was that didn't attend her with the suitable respect. She was a Princess of the Fire Nation – a dragon descended in the right line from Agni himself. Azula wouldn't deign to treat some feeble minded fool as an equal on the field of honour.

Still, what Zuzu didn't know couldn't hurt him. At least when it regarded her, in any case.

Tracing a fingernail over the ruby red stain of her lips, Azula sighed. Though it seemed that Zuko had yet to cotton onto the fact that she was a woman, and not a girl any longer. She may still be a young woman, but she was old _enough_. Her breasts could comfortably fit her hands, and her hips were wide enough for an admittedly difficult birth. Most importantly, she'd bled some moons past.

Old enough to be wedded and bedded. Thankfully, Ozai had acquiesced to her request to go to war. Joining the armed services on its own was a significant deterrent for the proud nobility, and oh-so-scandalous rumours of incest even more so. The whispers that the last man to stare at her luridly had been found with his eyes burnt out of his skull was only the cherry on top.

Even if the Fire Lord technically could force her into a marriage – the Fire Nation was an absolute monarchy after all – Ozai would have a difficult time finding earnest, politically beneficial suitors considering how tainted Azula's reputation had become. A colonel and an insane brother-fucker by the _tender_ age of fourteen.

Colonel Azula.

The title sent delicious, anticipatory shivers up her spine.

_General Azula._

That would be even better.

_Fire Lady Azula._

Best of all.

* * *

Dark water shattered before the prow of the _Tenri_ , the illusion of black glass reflecting the stars above broken by the passage of Zuko's frigate. Staring ahead through the night, the Crown Prince took in the looming sight of Caldera City with a crooked frown marring his face.

Reds and golds shone from one end of the harbour to the other, painted bright and orange by the ever burning fires that resided in the Fire Nation's capital city. The faint hum of human activity that marked civilization was almost gone with the sun, the populace quiet, but never truly completely silent. Even in the depths of night, there were always people in the streets. It was a city that never slept.

Curling his fingers over the steel railing, Zuko sucked in a bracing breath. Soon enough the honest simplicity of life at sea and amongst the peasantry would be exchanged for the poisonous games of power and decadence he'd be born into.

"Why the long face, nephew? We're almost home. I can simply feel the hot springs calling from here." Iroh sighed wistfully, an absent smile curling over his jovial features. "Days of relaxation with pretty women – what more could a man ask for?"

Zuko rolled his eyes, not even bothering to fix his uncle with an annoyed glance. "You know, once upon a time I'd have been embarrassed to be related to such an unapologetic pervert. Now I think I've just gone fully numb."

Ignoring the falsely wounded expression that crossed Iroh's face as the retired general swooned away with a hand on his heart; Zuko watched the approaching dock with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Ever since an incident where he'd nearly been assassinated at fourteen, Zuko had always lived with a faint air of suspicion every moment he was in the capital. It was his birthright as Crown Prince, and he knew that no matter how scarred he'd been to spend a night coughing poison while his Uncle and sister hovered over him anxiously, that he couldn't shy away from it.

Despite the fear though, there was a sense of homecoming and safety. After all, Zuko was nowhere near blind, and he could see the flame cradled in hand by a solitary figure waiting dockside. It was as if Azula had captured a blue star, brightly burning in the dark and calling him home like some wayward spirit.

His sister made him feel so weak. Azula was and always had been better. Smarter, faster, stronger. But with her at his back, Zuko also felt strangely invincible. Unkillable. As if he could take on the entire world with her and _win_.

The engines of the _Tenri_ cut into reverse, slowing the cruiser as it drifted through the deep harbor to pull next to the dock. Steel creaked when the gangplank was lowered, and Zuko was striding down before it even settled on the stone of the wharf.

"It's about time you showed up, Zuzu." Blue light faded as Azula wordlessly extinguished the fireball in her hand. Golden eyes glimmered faintly in the dark as the princess shifted her attention up behind her brother. "And Uncle too. Has my birthday come early this year?"

"I told you to stop calling me that." Zuko sighed with longsuffering. "Spirits Azula, you're not five anymore."

A fine brow arched, and Azula swept down in an exaggerated bow. "At your command Crown Prince Zuko. Ever-so-glorious highness. Your _magnificence_."

"Please Azula." Iroh cut in as he bumped around the siblings to step on the pier with a serious expression. "You know how very _humble_ Prince Zuko is. I'm sure my nephew wouldn't care to stand on formality with his dear sister."

"Uncle!"

Ignoring the reprimand with an amused curl of the lips, the retired general threw an arm around his niece and coaxed her into moving along in their journey up to the palace. "I'm glad to see you're well, niece. I've been missing my favourite Pai Sho partner. It's unfortunate that certain members of my own family sometimes say such horrible things about the game."

" _No_!" Azula gaped in faux shock. "How could someone do such a thing?"

Rubbing his fingers into his temples, Zuko shook his head and prayed wordlessly to the spirits. "How is this my _life_?" Wordlessly gesturing at the crewmen still on deck, the prince dismissed them for shore leave before hurrying along after the only family members left in the world he still cared about.

Zuko sidled up next to his sister, tuning out the habitual chatter Azula and his uncle engaged in before cutting in at the first pause in their conversation. "Is it true that there was a bit of a disturbance on at our kinsman's home?"

His voice was low and hushed, but if the cutting glance Azula gave him was any indication, there was still much for him to learn about keeping conspiracies quiet. Euphemizing around the events was better than outright mentioning them, at least.

Molton gold narrowed slightly as Azula considered him with a curved smirk, before the princess rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side. "There's no need to be so secretive about it, Zuzu." Unlike his furtive whispers, Azula's tones rung clear and strong as they walked through the silent streets. "Everyone who's anyone knows that the Avatar has returned, and the Fire Lord will be making a public statement about it tomorrow."

Nails dug into his arm as Azula switched from Iroh's arm to Zuko's. The pain flaring in his limb was a warning to _shut up_ , and Zuko ruthlessly squashed the urge to wince in pain. His sister's discipline was rarely the kindest, and over the years Zuko had long since learned to simply go with the flow as far as Azula's recommendations were concerned.

Undoubtedly he'd done something unbefitting of a future Fire Lord, yet again.

* * *

"What were you thinking you ignominious buffoon? Beating around dirty laundry like that in public is essentially equivalent to airing it! I know you really have to earn your label, Dum-dum, but couldn't you restrain it as least long enough to make it to the palace?"

A lazy hand waved at her from where Zuko was curled up in the sheets, and with a roll of the eyes Azula decided it best to move to other matters. Her brother almost always admitted she was right – and save caustic words and the rare smack in private, Azula could do little but hope the lessons would sink in sans the beatings she wished to give.

It wouldn't be good for Zuzu's political position if it became known that his younger sister had him henpecked. Zuko most assuredly knew Azula was wiser than he was, but a Fire Lord must be all knowing and all powerful. Fractures in that facade of majesty had lead to more than one Agni Kai over the throne in the past.

"What should be done with the Avatar?" Just like Zuko to gnaw continuously at a single topic until he was satisfied with it. Just like a stubborn – if reluctantly loveable – dog.

"Capture him and amputate his limbs. Without them, he can hardly bend, now can he? And if he spends his life in captivity, he won't be reborn any time soon. Succeed in that, and by the time there is a new Avatar the war will have long been won." It wasn't even a question, as far as Azula was concerned. Though by the way Zuko stared at her with a blanched face, maybe it was a question as far as _he_ was concerned.

What a queerly moralistic brother. If not for looking exactly like a younger Ozai, Azula might have questioned if Sozin's blood ran in Zuko's veins at all. Despite best efforts, Zuzu still struggled with doing the necessary thing.

"Isn't that a bit, I don't know, gruesome? Seems a pretty rough way to live, if you ask me."

"As opposed to what? Spending his life chained to the walls? He's the _Avatar_ Zuzu, even if he's still just a naive child. Left alone he could figure out how to wave his arms and obliterate the entire country." Sighing, Azula smoothed her hands over her mist thin negligee and threw herself into her brother's bed with a huff. "At least if he can't bend, he can be wheeled around in the sunlight or something."

With that appeal to his better nature, Zuko subsided to a sullen grumble. Life without being able to see the sun was worse than death to a firebender, and better that than immobility or death for a child. Not that Zuzu would be a fan of doing _anything at all_ that could harm 'innocent' people. "Do you suppose that I should go out and search for him?"

Rolling over on her side, Azula blew a strand of unbound hair out of her face to give Zuko the filthiest glare she could muster. Her brother actually shrank back, eyes darting over her form before her turned away entirely with a hint of a blush. A reluctant smirk curled the princess' lips.

Well, that was the reaction she'd been hoping for when she chose to wear the thin, curve clinging nightdress. Alas, it was still too early to give Zuzu more than the slightest incestual overtures – he seemed to have picked up that odd peasant reluctant for the practice. And best not to mix business with pleasure anyway.

"What are you, a fool? You're a master bender now, brother, even if you still struggle with lightning. But I wouldn't pit that against the Avatar so easily, especially with your honor – and thus your birthright – on the line!"

"Okay, okay. Take it easy!"

Azula snorted at the sheepish scratching of his mussed strands that Zuko did. Reaching out to fluff her brother's chin length mop into an unnecessary mess, Azula ignored the scent his scent of sandlewood and smoke to get to the true purpose of her late night visit.

Flopping down on her back, Azula crossed her hands behind her head and blew a gusty sigh. "It seems that I find myself assigned to our latest offensive in the Earth Kingdom. What do you say to accompanying me on a little sojourn to Omashu?"

Seconds passed with Azula peering out of the corner of her eye at Zuko's pensive frown. "I have no desire to go to war, Azula." His tone was filled with a tone of melancholy and reluctance, and Azula knew with sudden burning anger that she'd let Uncle get his soft, fat paws into her brother too deeply.

Which was an annoying obstacle, but one she could easily overcome. Whatever hold the genial old Dragon of the West had was not deep enough to toss away a decade of sibling affection. Glory and blood might not tempt Zuzu any longer, but fear and a lie certainly would.

Brushing her fingers over Zuko's silk clad thigh, Azula brushed aside the sudden hitch to his breath to curl her hand over the prince's bare abdomen. The princess curled her nails into the taut muscles, digging on the edge of pain in a warning message even as she twisted closer to breathe lowly into his ear.

 _Relax_.

"I need someone I can _trust_ toguard my back, Zuko. I was _assigned_ to the campaign. I didn't _ask_ for it. Now why do you think someone would do something like that?" A nasty little white lie – she'd privately requested the mission as a boon from the Fire Lord. But Zuzu was hardly likely to confront Ozai about it.

No, Zuko was a learnt pessimist when it came to matters of their father. Every grudging praise was oily manipulation. Every reprimand was a malicious insult. All the Fire Lord's gifts were poison, and Zuzu would instantly think the worst of an unexpected martial assignment – especially with her implications.

_Assassination._

Victory was a heady feeling when her brother turned to stare at her with resolute molten gold. Nose to nose, they were so close Azula could smell the mint on his breath and see the faint inhuman slit to his pupils.

"I'll speak to Uncle in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

Sweat was beading in the stiff collar of his formal robes as Zuko stood with his father under the noon sun. Staring off into space, the prince idly thanked Agni that the stifling cloth was dyed deep red and black and gold, and would not betray the profuse perspiration trailing down his back or collecting in his clenched palms where they were folded behind his waist.

" _At last – through the blessing of Agni, our greatest enemy and greatest triumph has been revealed..."_

Ozai's voice rolled over him, deep and strong and imperial as it went in one ear of the Crown Prince and out the other. Zuko had little need to do anything during the Fire Lord's address besides stand to the side and behind the monarch – mirrored on the only side by his sister.

It had been deemed auspicious that the gathering invasion fleet be launched on the same day the existence of the Avatar was publicly revealed. A statement that they could not be cowed by forgotten legends or the intervention of ' _lesser'_ spirits. The Prince had been peripherally aware of the swelling armada stationed around the harbor – the heir to the Throne must needs be aware of everything in the Kingdom – but he'd had no intent to join it.

" _For we are the children of fire, and none escape the benediction of our Lord and Father..."_

Until last night anyway. Uncle had been quite displeased and worried, but it wasn't in Iroh's nature to deny Zuko the duties expected of the prince of the Fire Nation. So the Dragon of the West had pulled some strings, leaning on old friends and allies to have his nephew hurriedly commissioned as a captain in the Fire Nation Navy and the _Tenri_ assigned to the Third Fleet.

 _Lu Ten_ had floated in the tense air between Uncle and nephew. A shadow of grief and loss that moved Zuko to promise he would return. Uncle had only smiled with sorrow and insisted he would not bury another son so long as he lived, and promptly returned to his cabin on their ship.

" _We stand on the precipice of victory! Through the efforts of our Nation's strong and fierce sons..."_

A large part of him was twisted up with guilt over forcing his uncle to return to the battlefield at his side. Iroh had never been the same after Lu Ten died beneath the boulders of earthbenders – choking on his own blood and gasping for breath. It had broken Azulon's first son. Not glaringly and obviously, but undeniably in the shadows the bubbled up in Uncle's orange gaze.

But even if it hurt his Uncle, following Azula to the battlefield was the _only_ choice left to him. She was his sister – his only true sister – who had stuck by him despite all the fickle tides of Ozai's whims or the threats that seemed to press inward closer and closer every year. It was no longer about a boy grudgingly playing with his sister for the sake of his mother. It was about a man protecting one of the few people in the world he could safely care for.

" _You stand not alone, but go accompanied by both heirs to the Burning Throne. Such is my faith in our strength..."_

Tension throbbed in his sweat soaked temples, and Zuko restrained the urge to grimace. He had little patience for the formality of the court and the dangers seeping into the smiles of Ozai's sycophants. If there was one thing to be praised about going to war, it was that it would at least get them out and away from the Fire Lord's reptilian stare.

No more drawing back his hair into phoenix tails so tight that the very skin of his face felt frozen. No more dragging up phony gratitude for every oily compliment or back-handed _suggestion_. No more twisting his lips into an approving smile when painted trollops laughed breathily and leaned in inappropriately.

" _For it is ordained! Fire is the superior element! The visible expression of our will to conquer..."_

Zuko wondered if it would make much of a difference in the end. Uncle seemed beyond caring about it, but the Crown Prince had come to know that no matter how far they'd wandered across their country in recent years, that a man could be taken out of the court, but the court could never be taken out of the man. Even when they had been children, they never could truly be children.

Rules and subterfuge and betrayal piled up from the earliest memories until Zuko could do little but live his life in a constant haze of suspicion. Genuine people _existed_ , like Uncle's exasperatingly amusing worship for comfort and games, or Azula's poisonously protective sororal love, or Lieutenant Jee's gruff respect. But they were so _rare_ , buried beneath the expectations of royalty that stifled childhood before children could truly be children.

" _We are no barbarians that disrupt the order of the world with our bending. Our fire comes from within – as natural as the very blood in our veins!"_

Frequently Zuko found himself waking from dreams of what _could_ have been. If Aunt Rin had not perished from consumption when Zuko had been five. If Lu Ten had returned from the war, Uncle unbroken and burning bright with their vitality. If Father had loved Mother and his children. If they had been simple peasants instead of royalty.

Sometimes he even woke sweating and shivering, dreaming of worlds where Sozin's war never happened. _Treason_. The breeze would whisper, and Zuko would gasp and clutch the sheets and drink in his snoozing sisters familiar smell _. I am loyal to our nation. I_ am _._ And he was.

" _So let us march forth, children of fire! March forth, and with our blood and steel build the greatest-civilization the world will ever know!"_

Which meant Zuko's deployment was preordained. He was Zuko of Agni, and the battlefield was his birthright. Regardless of how badly his gut clenched in anxiety at what might be found across the sea or how much the subtle tension around Azula's eyes cut into him.

* * *

"Harder Zuko! _Faster_!"

Scowling at her brother, Azula spun into a tight heel kick and sent a curving spear of fire towards her brother. Not letting up even as Zuko barely dodged the azure stream, the princess sighed as her axe kick drove her older brother to his knees.

Azula tugged ineffectually at the collar of her black and gold armour, momentarily cursing her decision to train in full combat gear. It was beastly hot outside to train firebending for hours in her ornate, but functional armor, and the sweat that made her undergarments chafe only made matters worse.

"Fire is an aggressive element, Zuko. Stop bending like an airbender and use more force!" She ignored the poisonous look Zuko gave her to tug the older teen to his feet. Brushing her sweaty mop of unbound hair, Azula turned and displayed a demonstrative palm strike.

"Throw your whole body into the motion. Don't hold back or try to conserve power. Your goal is to overwhelm. The most common mistake firebenders make is in thinking they can attain victory if they conserve energy by half-assing their attacks." Ruffling Zuko's messy chin length strands, Azula spared an appreciative glance for the sweat trickling down his naked chest before finishing. "Attack less if you're tired, but when you do strike you must put everything in it. All your muscles."

"Uncle says firebending comes from the breath though."

Struggling with the urge to pinch her nose, Azula gave up and closed her eyes in exasperated thought. Stupid, stubborn Zuzu having to unlearn everything and relearn it because he couldn't get it right the _first_ time. "Well best of luck breathing all over your enemies then, dum-dum."

Zuko's face coloured, and the Crown Prince opened his mouth to launch into a tirade before Azula cut him off with a chopping motion. "Of course firebending _comes_ from the breath. But it's _shaped_ by the muscles, unless you're skilled enough to direct the flow of your chi by thought alone?"

Squinting up at the noon sun, Azula snapped her fingers and shoved Zuko towards the stairway heading down below deck. "Go get yourself cleaned up and find something to eat. I'll come find you in a few hours to whip you into shape again."

"Yeah, okay."

Azula wiped a trail bead of sweat off her upper lip before rushing below deck to get away from Agni's punishing rays. They might be children of fire, but it could get sweltering hot when the wind was dead and sunlight reflected off the clear waters that surrounded the Fire Nation archipelago.

Moving in a straight line towards Zuko's – and thus her's, for all intents and purposes – cabin, Azula barely slowed to allow the commoners their proper deference and time to throw themselves out of her way.

"Out of the way!" Azula ordered unnecessarily as she burst into the Captain's room, drawing a confused look from Iroh where the older royal was engrossed in reading a yellowed scroll. Not bothering to clarify her impatience, the princess barrelled into the washroom and threw open the taps to the bathtub.

Slamming the door closed and locking it with an offhand, Azula tore her clothes off before jumping into the great steel basin. It was honestly a bit of unneeded extravagance, as most officers lowered themselves to the communal showers to rub elbows with their men – but opulence defined the higher officers of the Fire Nation, beginning with those who commanded units or ships. And Azula had no problem taking advantage of it.

She sunk down into the steaming water, inhaling the scent of filtered salt water and rust with a faint grimace. Pumped up from the ocean and past the boiler to be heated and to kill organisms, the liquid Azula soaked in was the very definition of plebeian utilitarianism.

Better to be cleaned with such water than to endure the indignity of sitting about for days or weeks in the grime of her own sweat however. And she would not even begin to think about the utterly horrific body odour the commoners would acquire without access to frequent showers.

Honestly, mandating daily washings was one of Azulon's wisest policies when the Fire Lord was just a warmaking Prince. Not only did it make it bearable to be in the presence of the peasantry fighting for their glory, but it also reduced loss of manpower due to sicknesses.

Grabbing a bar of soap, Azula began to scrub down in swift, economical motions. It was tasteless and cheap – like the food and the company on her brother's boat. There was no purpose in dragging out her ablations any longer than required, and with a final dunk of her hair in the sudsy water, Azula climbed back out of the tub.

Vaporizing all the moisture clinging to her form with a quick flare of heat, Azula poked her head out the door and fixed Iroh with the most pleading expression she could muster. "Uncle, could you find me some clean clothes to wear? Zuzu's is fine."

When the retired general stared at her with a measure of disapproval – unlike Zuko, Iroh was more than aware of what people would think if she walked about in her brother's clothes – Azula stuck out her lower lip in a generous pout.

Iroh's mouth twitched in reluctant amusement, and setting his scroll aside, the old royal heaved his bulk from the sitting cushion on the floor and began to putter about the room. "With a face like that, you'll be breaking hearts before too long, Niece."

"Good." Azula replied tartly, catching a tossed pair of socks and tugging them on. "I have to find something to amuse myself with, lest I go mad."

"I would have thought tormenting your brother would manage to satisfy you?" Digging around Zuko's messy room, Iroh managed to scrounge up a pair of red woolen trousers and black leather boots.

Azula reached out around the open crack of the bathroom door, accepting the weight piled on her arm with a grunt. "Well you know how it is, Uncle. I can't do that _all_ the time. You'll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, as they say."

"And is your brother a fly?"

A crumpled sleeveless vest was dropped into her hand, and Azula shrugged it on quickly. Glancing at herself in the plain square mirror, Azula smiled. Hair unbound and slightly mussed from the bath – _or a tumble in the sheets –_ wearing her loose fitting older brother's clothesthat coveredeverythingbut her bare arms and a hint of cleavage.

How scandalous.

"No." Azula jabbed back with a tone of satisfaction. "Zuzu is much more than that."

* * *

Sweat poured down the planes of his back as Zuko moved into the last stance of his kata. Chest heaving and eyes stinging with sweat, the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation idly wondered if others had to put such absurd effort into their firebending. Somehow, he doubted it. Between whatever trade they performed for a living and time set aside for their personal lives, there simply wasn't enough time in the day to study firebending as Zuko had to.

Beneath the last setting rays of the western sun and his sister's appraising stare, Zuko had to admit that he had no particular talent for firebending. Oh he wasn't a _terrible_ firebender – quite the opposite, in fact. The Prince was nearly a master, despite his young age and lack of natural talent for the art. But anything less than perfection and prodigious skill sent the Fire Lord into sneering rants.

It would never matter how much effort Zuko put into learning the katas and every individual strike in the Imperial Style. The fact that the Crown Prince drilled hour after hour, day after day, through every movement to maximize the destructive potential in order to make up for his own individual lack of inner fire was irrelevant.

Zuko's earliest memories were of a father with a tremulous smile. Once upon a time Ozai had possessed some fragile affection for his wife and children. The hands that taught Zuko's first firebending forms had been – if not kind or gentle – then at least possessed of paternal pride and lack of cruelty. For so long, the heir to the Dragon Throne had held onto those recollections as proof.

Proof that if Zuko simply tried hard enough, if he was skilled enough, ruthless enough, that he could earn back that love that Ozai had once given him so effortlessly. But something had poisoned Ozai. Perhaps it had been Azulon, or the court, or Ursa's persistent distance from her husband. In any case, all that was left of his father was a creature of mad ambition and cruelty.

Zuko was no longer a child. He could not desperately hold onto fragile fantasies at the cost of everything else in his life, and assume they would somehow work out.

Flicking salty sweat from his brow, Zuko spared a glance for the distant eastern horizon as he mused. Only another few days until the invasion force landed, and only another few days to discover if his painstakingly studied firebending was up to the challenge of a true battle.

The couple of weeks at sea had passed surprisingly quickly. Days ran together in an indeterminate steam, details blurring in between the burn of his muscles at Azula's training and the faint smell of tea in the nostrils at Uncle's games of pai sho. Soon – too soon, if Zuko were honest – he'd have Earth Kingdom ground beneath his boots and earthbender peasants beneath his flames.

A great part of the prince trembled in fear at the thought. Still a boy, or barely a man, and how many would he have to kill before war's end? Too many, if he were to hold to a similar sort of philosophy as Uncle. But a greater part of Zuko quivered with anticipation and hunger. Not enough, for he was fire – which was combat and blood and the racing beat of a furious heart.

"That was better." Azula advised cautiously, ruby red lips thinned in the crimson light of the dying sun. Her hair hung loose and free about her shoulders, curling down to the middle of her back in blatant challenge of their country's traditions. Zuko admired that, to the point where the Crown Prince was inspired to abandon the warrior's topknot himself.

"Thanks." Zuko muttered lowly, rubbing at his body with a towel to prevent the accumulation of odor. A quick sniff disabused him of the hope that he'd managed to escaped the rank scent of broken down sweat, and with a final respectful bow to his teacher and younger sister, Zuko rushed past her to his own quarters.

The few carefully nurtured political instincts Zuko had always screamed whenever his sister came near. Whenever it was to train him, or teach him, or simply to enjoy his company, his guts told him Azula had _some_ motive. Zuko ruthlessly squashed those instincts. If Azula had some personal desire to one-up her older brother, she wouldn't spent so long tutoring him on the intricacies of the court and the dangers of even the simplest of actions.

As rare as it was, Azula's love was sincere. His younger sister was a better politician and a better firebender, and probably would be a better Fire Lord. But despite all that, the girl made the constant effort to shore up Zuko's own position. To sharpen the edges of his own martial skill. To pass information that might concern him into Zuko's own hands.

Azula was the contradiction to every political rule. Her only interest in the game was Zuko's welfare and her own survival. Which was why despite her inherent cruelty, Zuko could hold her close as his sister and love her. Whatever else she was, the Princess was his sister. His only sister, and the only courtier he could trust to have his best interests at heart.

Which was why he'd agreed to seek the blood and chaos of war in the first place.

_I'm sorry Uncle. I'm sorry for Lu Ten. I'm sorry for the deaths that will come at my hands. But my sister's safety has more import to me._

Azula meant more than the deaths of a hundred thousand men to Zuko.


End file.
